Scp-471 Novels & Stories

Colonel Mulfy rode amid two other watchmen of lower standings. Sporge sat and watched as they approached him. Colonel Mulfy was the head of the watchmen of Nutusel, an army that secured the borders of Nutusel and oversaw the security system of Nutusel. He was in his early 50s, white-skinned, quite tall, and muscular with a saturnine face that was believed to be the consequence of combats and training. Along with the other watchmen, he wore the watchmen's combat attire made from blends of cotton and synthetic fiber.

Project Halo had to be in there somewhere. In one hand, she carried a memory scanner. In the other, her fear. But she didn’t hesitate. Because this was no longer about answers. It was about reclaiming control. She found the mainframe beneath the biometric chamber. Silver wires stretched from the walls like veins, pulsing softly. Ophelia plugged in the device and began scanning the database. Names flew across the screen. Carl Maddox. Subject 04. Immune to psychic abilities. Recruited at age 7 after maternal sacrifice.

I pulled my daughter into my arms. It was over. Or so I thought. Because as the vault door reopened and Alex rushed toward us— A woman stepped into the threshold behind him. Same bone structure. Same eyes as Liana. And she looked at me like she’d been waiting her whole life to meet me. “Hello, Sophia,” she said. “I’m Subject Four.”

It was chained to the rock with massive, glowing runes—Taoist binding spells that had been corrupted by time. "Subject 004-Delta," Caleb’s voice shifted slightly, the analytical tone of the AI blending seamlessly with his own observations. "Designation: The Cinder-Husk. Status: Dormant. Threat Level: Extreme." "It's not just dormant," Scarlett whispered, pulling out her jade brush. "It's suffering. Look at the chains. They aren't holding it; they're feeding on it. This thing is a living battery." "Then we put it out of its misery," Caleb said. He didn't transform into his wolf form. Instead, he simply took off his jacket, revealing the intricate, silver tattoos that now covered his arms—the

Something that didn't belong in a "Real World." A **Titan** stepped out of the shadows. It was thirty feet tall, its body made of rusted iron and pulsing violet tubes. It had the face of a man, but the eyes were giant searchlights. On its chest, a large silver logo was etched into the metal: **AETHEL-GROUP: ASSET RECOVERY**. "Subject 01 and Donor 04," the Titan’s voice boomed, sounding like a thousand speakers blowing out at once. "You have exceeded your 'Independence' quota. Please remain still while your 'Conflict Data' is harvested."

I asked her. "Her name's Kitty," a guard said as he hit me with a baton on the back of my knees which caused me to fall and I cried out, "you stick to that, prisoner!" He spat out on my face and I grit my teeth, suffering from the harsh painful blow. "It's Prisoner VII," I said through loud breaths and gritted teeth, "it's Prisoner VII to you." ~~~

It reeked of impending madness; the opening yawning before him like an omen. William stared in as the group walked by it on their way to the next room over. Inside this one was a solid silver slab with chains hanging from the edges where the arms and legs of the victim; him, in this case; would lie. Under the slab was a metal funnel to drain the bloodshed. His bloodshed. Above the slab was a huge grate of metal spikes. The spikes were approximately a foot in length, which guaranteed they pierced all the way through the body from the front to the back.

Now she was a pile of mangled flesh lying in the morgue. I turned and went back inside, locked the door, and slid down against it until I was sitting on the floor. My phone vibrated. "Backup slots are full. In the next cycle, death cannot be transferred." The next day, the sun came up, and the world went on as usual. Except for Unit 703. There was still no movement. I washed my face and looked at myself in the mirror. The scratch at the corner of my eye was still there. It was thin, narrow, and capped with a faint scab.

Scarlett clicked open the full file. The terminal whirred softly. A new document appeared. Transfer Notes Confidential Her eyes scanned the text. Subject Seven demonstrates exceptional early cognitive response and adaptive emotional resilience. The maternal guardian insists transfer is necessary for long-term protection. Protection. Her breath caught. Protection from what? Dominic leaned closer. "There's another page." Scarlett opened it. A recorded voice file blinked on the screen. Her heart slammed against her ribs. The date was fifteen years old. Her trembling finger pressed play.